


Still Waters

by Medie



Series: Still Waters [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ah, so, you strong-arming the Fleet into giving me the ship was, what? The Vulcan idea of candy and flowers?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Waters

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wasn't going to do it, but I discovered, in trying to write a ficathon piece tonight, that I couldn't _not_ do it. So, here we are. Written for the latest [Porn Battle](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/10575.html?view=524111#t524111). (I think, [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/userinfo.bml?user=life_on_queen)[**life_on_queen**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/userinfo.bml?user=life_on_queen) this means i owe you a girl!McCoy. In retrospect, I believe I have been played. By my own damn subconscious. That is so _wrong_.

There ar-- there _were_ no oceans on Vulcan. Spock chooses to believe her fascination with them is borne of a natural scientific interest. Purely logical. The structure of the ecosystems within them, still rebuilding themselves after the wounds of centuries past, is quite alluring. She has spent much time in the years since joining Starfleet on the shores of Earth's oceans, teasing out their secrets. Her letters home were filled with many reports of her discoveries.

Still, when she leaves Starfleet Command, it is not scientific interest that draws her to the Pacific's shores. She settles on the sand, recalling her mother's stories of the sea. As a child, Spock had not believed them. Illogical as it had been, she could not conceive of such massive bodies of water. Certainly not ones which spread across the face of an entire planet. Not until her first trip to her mother's world and her first glimpse of it in space.

"_You see, Spock_," her mother had said, "_some fairytales are real._" She'd looked at Sarek then, a look passing between them that, to this day, Spock does not pretend to understand.

The mystery of her parents marriage has never been one she is eager to solve.

Looking at the water and the waves as they roll in, Spock thinks of her mother, can still feel fingers slipping through her grasp. The horror of understanding and inevitability sinking in Lady Amanda's eyes. Somewhere deep within her, Spock feels pain. Loss, grief, and rage burn together into a fire that can only be called pain. She does not voice it, does not betray any sign of it, but she _feels_ it. It is hers. A last gift and she honors her mother with the acceptance of it.

A wave crashes loudly against the rocks. Spock turns her head, watching it recede. She finds herself wishing it would sweep her from its shores.

"You know, it's kind of against the law to wear boots on the beach."

She lifts her head. It is unsurprising that he should follow her. Indeed, knowing she wished privacy, Spock realizes, in retrospect, she should have expected it.

James T. Kirk has always demonstrated a marked disinterest in propriety of any sort. Vulcan or otherwise.

She finds this does not concern her nearly so much as it once did. Indeed, she experiences something that could be considered relief.

"I am aware of no such ordinance, Captain."

Kirk grins and drops down beside her. "Yeah, well, it's an _unofficial_ one." Making a show of removing his own boots and tossing them into the sand, he looks at her with his eyebrow raised in mimicry of her own. "Well, _Commander_?"

Spock releases the sigh he is expecting, but does not protest. Rather, she obediently removes her boots, setting them neatly beside his fallen ones before tucking her socks inside.

The sand is cold beneath her feet, the afternoon sun doing little to contradict her body's expectations. She will never be warm again, Spock realizes, and digs her toes into the sand and its chill.

She will grow accustomed to it. She must.

"Better," Jim says, grinning as he flops back on his back, apparently oblivious to her inner turmoil. "You've got to learn how to relax, Spock. You're wound a little too tight." He pinches two fingers together slightly. "Just a touch. You explode on me and I'm pretty sure that Pike'll have my ass."

Spock opens her mouth to protest, but Jim reaches up and presses his finger to her lips. "I was joking, Spock," he says.

She does not respond. The unexpected intimacy of the moment having shocked her into silence. It is not enough contact for any true betrayal of his thoughts, but she feels a brief impression of his mind.

Were she human (never enough of either side to be truly one or the other) she would feel touched by his concern.

Perhaps she is.

"Anyhoo, I've heard that 'I'm a Vulcan, Vulcans do not relax' crap before," Jim says, letting his hand drop to her shoulder. Spock tenses, feeling the cool of his touch through her uniform. His eyes watch her and she is aware that the gesture is a deliberate one, leaving her to debate the meaning of why. "When Vulcans want to relax, they meditate and chant."

Spock rises to the bait. "The Terran practice of expending energy in pursuit of rest is illogical, Captain. If one wishes to rest, then it is logical to conserve energy."

"Ah, but that's the point, Commander," Jim says, fingers rubbing into her shoulder. The gesture is not unpleasant and she leans into it. "It's about blowing off steam and having _fun_." His grip tightens, trying to tug her off balance.

Spock resists with little effort, her Vulcan strength easily superior, and he tries again to no avail.

"For fuck's sake, Spock, just _lie down_," he complains. "I'm trying to have a moment here."

She acquiesces with a slight nod of her head.

"Good," he says, pleased. "Isn't that better?"

"It is -- " Spock considers it. "Interesting." Interesting to lie so close to this man. Her adversary. Friend. She recalls her other self's comments and looks at Jim. Her -- _Jim_. Spock considers the shift in thought with some consternation.

She is unaware of when she began to think of him in such fashion. Before her conversation with her elder self. Before _she_ made inferences which still perplex Spock.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks, his satisfaction faltering.

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I am uncertain as to what you mean, Captain."

"The hell you are." Jim rolls onto his side, resting his head on his hand. "Why'd you do it?"

Spock freezes, caught by the intensity of his eyes. She had not anticipated this. The probability of his discovering her actions had not factored into her decision and, again, she is caught by the realization that she miscalculated. In matters involving James T. Kirk this is becoming a common, if bothersome, experience.

"It seems," she murmurs, almost to herself, "my logic is flawed where you are concerned."

That makes him grin again. "Ah, so, you strong-arming the Fleet into giving me the ship was, what? The Vulcan idea of candy and flowers?"

Spock blinks. "No."

Jim laughs. "No? You go and pull every political string you've got -- and, by the way, don't think I'm not freaked out by the fact you're some kind of _royalty_ \- to bully Starfleet into giving me the Enterprise, and it's _not_ about sex?"

"It was not," Spock says. "It was -- " she considers it. Remembers her conversations with T'Pau, her father, _herself_ and finds the sum of them insufficient to explain. "I do not know what it was." She tries again. She dare not tell him about her encounter with herself or the subtle undercurrent of her words. It is difficult yet for her to understand, to believe, and yet -- She shakes her head, a slight gesture, dismissing the internal debate. "It was -- right," she decides.

He smiles at her. She finds it...stimulating. "Okay," he says, and she has the sense he is not particularly addressing her. "I can work with that."

This time, she truly does not understand his meaning, but then Jim leans forward. His eyes drop to her mouth and Spock begins to understand. He is close enough that she can feel his breath as it feathers across her lips when he stops. "So, um, I'm going to try to kiss you here. Please don't pinch me again. That _hurt_."

Bemused, she nods. "I will not." With some hesitance, she reaches out to brush fingertips over his shoulder, stroking the skin beneath which the nerves lurk. Jim shivers beneath her touch and she raises a brow, bringing her hand back for another pass. He tenses and she lingers. "There are _other_ ways in which the nerve endings can be stimulated."

A slow, wicked grin spreads over his face. "There are, huh?"

Again, Spock nods.

"I think I like the sound of that," Jim says. He moves again, brushing lips against hers. The close contact allows the first brush of his desire to flood through her, warming her in a way the weak Terran sun cannot. Spock presses into that heat, eager for it, and he accommodates her by drawing her closer.

They tangle together with a familiarity they should not have, bodies finding rhythms and movements they should not know.

She chooses not to analyze it as Jim reaches to free her hair. "Want it loose," he mumbles against her mouth, "never seen it."

Of course not. Vulcan propriety forbade such things. She cannot recall the last person permitted to see her hair unbound. Spock thinks to explain it to him. To a Vulcan woman of her station, there are certain cultural considerations at play. Fortunately, while Starfleet regulations do require her hair bound, they do not require her to cut it. Spock has found it a challenge to balance comfort with efficiency, but she has managed and Starfleet has not complained.

Her hair falls around them in a black curtain. It is nearly to her waist now and thick, heavy against her back. Jim immediately grabs fistfuls of it. "God, you're gorgeous," he breathes, pulling her close for another kiss. "Drove me _crazy_ watching you." He flicks his tongue against her lips and Spock parts them, letting him in. He takes the invitation and rolls them, pressing her into the sand as he kisses her.

She responds in kind, her fingers pressing into the material of his tunic. Command gold.

He is greedy, but the kiss is not a selfish one. Spock tips her head back and his lips find her neck instead. She realizes, through a haze of sensation, that he is still speaking, a mutter to himself.

"So fucking hot. That uniform and the way you looked at me, like I was -- " his teeth brush the skin beneath her ear and Spock jumps. It is unexpected to discover a sensitivity there and he laughs, a gust of breath against slick skin, and she shivers. "Wanted this. Always this. Even on the bridge." He pulls back, alarmed. "The _bridge_. God, Spock, I didn't -- "

She silences him by reversing their positions. She looks down at him, her leg pressed between his. "I am aware of your intentions," she says, nudging against his erection as she speaks. "Then and now. I do not require further explanation."

"Good," he says, rough, "I think I'd suck at one if I tried."

"You would not," she says. "I have discovered you to be remarkably resourceful in the face of impossible odds."

He smirks. "Are we ever going to stop arguing about that?"

Spock considers it. "If you wish."

Flipping them, Jim's smirk is broad as he shakes his head. "More fun this way."

"Agreed," Spock says, stretching up to kiss him.

He avoids her mouth and rucks up her uniform shirt. Spock tenses, anticipating the touch of his lips on her skin. Nevertheless, it is unexpected when his mouth traces the curve of a breast.

She gasps, ever so softly, doing so again when his hand brushes areas far more sensitive.

"Wait," she murmurs, though reluctant as she is loathe to stop him. "There is another way."

Jim stares down at her, wide-eyed and breathless, watching as she catches his hand. "Spock -- "

"Jim," she says, surprising them both. "Please."

He nods.

Spock guides Jim aside, then rises over him. She fixes her clothing before tugging him into a sitting position and settling in his lap. His erection presses against her in a fashion she finds most distracting. Painfully aware of their location, she is loathe to consider any further contact. While they are afforded some privacy by the dunes, it is not enough. Not nearly enough for what she finds her body suddenly so desperate for.

Curious, Spock moves her hips, rocking forward and down on him. Jim rewards her with a hiss, his free hand tightening on her thigh, "_Fuck_, Spock."

"I believe, Captain, that is indeed what we are endeavoring to accomplish."

His eyes open and he grins at her. "Why, Commander, did you just make a funny?"

She inclines her head. "I am not without emotion, Jim."

"Imagine my relief," he says, hips pushing up. "God, the things I've wanted to do to you." His smile grows sheepish, his face reddening with his embarrassment, as he confesses, "You have _no_ idea."

"Ah," Spock says, not unfamiliar with the concept. "Hate sex." She returns to her earlier task. Jim is restless, eager to touch all of her at once, something which makes touching _difficult_. Even more so when this restlessness translates into his body rocking into hers and distracting her quite efficiently.

She squirms a little, feeling her own body rush to readiness. It would be, she believes, quite easy to slip free of her pants and take him.

He would not protest and she considers the image with some satisfaction.

"In the beginning, maybe," Jim says, breaking into her thoughts. His grin turns wicked. "The Kobayashi Maru one was so fucking hot."

She curls her fingers around his and, for a brief moment, sees herself bent over a console. Spock presses her lips together, almost able to feel his body slamming into hers as the console bites into her skin. She breathes out, letting her eyelids drift closed as she permits the fantasy an opportunity to play out.

"Perhaps," she says, fighting to regain her concentration and look at him, "it is something we might revisit in the future. First, however, there are other considerations."

With his attention on her, Spock slides her fingertips against his, watching the way his mouth falls open as their minds brush against one another. It is subtle, the barest of surface contacts, but it is enough.

Jim's breathing stutters, his body jerking, and he groans. "What -- "

"Vulcans," Spock murmurs, her tone casual, "keep much to themselves." She slides her fingers down his, skimming over the skin, and Jim rewards her with with another groan. "Particularly in these matters."

She winds their fingers together, grasping tight, and he keens loudly, his head thumping into the sand. "FUCK," he gasps. "What the -- "

"Telepathy," Spock murmurs, bending over him, her lips brush the skin of his throat, chasing the cool scent of him. Nuzzling against his neck, she continues to speak, "It can be used in very inventive ways if one is creative enough to conceive of them."

Jim rolls his hips beneath her, thrusting up blindly. Spock pushes down, her superior strength holding him in place easily. "You are not the only one, Jim, who has had time to consider things."

She kisses him, gentle, almost chaste, as the waves roll in behind them, her mind sliding into his and making him cry out as nerve endings come alive, signals of pleasure running rampant through him. He shudders beneath her, coming as she adds,"I believe we will now have ample time to explore them."

Jim goes limp beneath her. Lazily, he smiles at her. "I'm gonna need to get my cabin soundproofed."

Equally lazy, Spock nips his lip between her teeth before kissing him properly.

"I believe that would be best," she agrees.

On the matter of fairytales, Spock is still unwilling to believe her mother. Logic and dignity unable to let her go quite that far. She is, however, willing to admit she might be wrong.


End file.
